


Vitamin C

by thoughtsappear



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Orange juice - Freeform, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 05:33:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20402494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsappear/pseuds/thoughtsappear
Summary: Magic can't cure the common cold.





	Vitamin C

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heartstarmagick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstarmagick/gifts).

Quentin, Eliot and Margo were playing push. Well, Quentin and Margo were playing, Eliot was watching and making sarcastic comments about the game. Quentin was the superior player, but Margo’s competitive nature and Quentin’s outlandish cheating made the game entertaining nonetheless. 

“I think I’m gonna make some drinks,” Eliot said, getting up off the couch clearing his throat. “Maybe an old fashioned.”

“Sure, whatever,” Margo said..

“Then I’m going to sell your Prada shoes on poshmark,” he added. 

“Fine,” Margo said. “Shit! Quentin, I had a king!”

“And then I’m gonna have sex with Todd and Fogg in a kinky threesome.” Eliot stood between the two of them and watched. 

“Okay, get me one too,” Quentin said, throwing some probability magic at Margo. 

Eliot shrugged and went to the liquor cabinet. His throat felt really dry all of a sudden and he was about ready to gulp down some club soda just to take care of it. He made the drinks without his usual flair, since there was no one to impress.

“Are you fucking serious,” Margo yelled. She threw a top hat in Quentin’s direction and stalked up to her room.

“This is why we don’t play games with Margo anymore,” Eliot said, as Quentin settled into his side on the couch. He finished his own drink and then started to work on hers.

“You’re hot,” Quentin said, his lips brushing Eliot’s forehead.

“Thank you baby, you know I think you’re great too.” 

“No, I mean, you’re literally hot,” Quentin said, blushing. “You feel like you’ve been sitting in front of a furnace.”

Eliot frowned and took a sip of his drink. “I don’t feel hotter than normal.”

==

Eliot woke up the next morning with a massive headache and his throat was no longer just dry, it felt like it had been scraped raw. It hurt to swallow, and he could barely breathe through his nose. He did his best to get out of bed and put on an outfit when all he wanted was to stay in bed like a cave troll.

“You look terrible.” Margo remarked less than two minutes after he sat down to a nauseating breakfast.

“Love you too, bitch,” he said, sipping a cup of coffee that felt like knives on his throat.

“No, really,” she said, reaching for him. “You’re all pale, and are you sweating?”

She put the back of her hand against his forehead, and he squirmed. “You’re burning up.”

“I feel fine,” he lied. “I just need a minute.”

“You look like you’re about to face plant into your avocado toast,” Margo said. 

“El.” Quentin’s voice came from the doorway. “You’re sick.”

“No, I’m not,” Eliot tried to grab the orange juice. It was halfway across the table and he couldn’t summon the strength, nor his telekinesis. 

“Go back to bed,” Quentin said. 

“Oh baby, if you wanted that, you just had to ask,” Eliot started but he was interrupted by a coughing fit. 

He stumbled up the stairs and fell right into bed, leaving Quentin to pull off his socks and his pants. Quentin climbed up on the bed and worked the buttons open on his vest. 

“Why don’t you rest for a minute?” Quentin said, taking a moment and tucking him in bed. Eliot pulled the blanket to his chin. 

“My throat hurts,” Eliot whined. 

“I’ll get something,” Quentin said. He moved towards the door. 

“Stay,” Eliot said, feebly reaching for him. Quentin stopped and sat down next to him on the bed.

“I need to get you the--”

“No.” Eliot buried his face in the blankets. He was suddenly freezing cold. “Will you...pet my head?”

It was the kind of thing he was only loopy enough to ask for when he was feeling vulnerable. Eliot closed his eyes and waited, and after just a moment’s hesitation, he felt Quentin’s hand settle on his head and begin methodically stroking. Eliot could relax, between little bouts of coughing. He had almost drifted off to sleep when he felt a sudden coldness on his head and the absence of Quentin’s steady fingers. 

He rolled over and saw Quentin trying to sneak out of the room. When he noticed Eliot was awake, he flashed a sheepish grin. “I thought you were asleep.”

“That’s no excuse,” Eliot mumbled. “Get back here.”

When Eliot woke up, he was happy to see that Quentin was still by his side, still petting, although the time between strokes had increased.

“How are you feeling?” Quentin asked him. “Margo went to the drugstore and got you some nyquil and some cough drops. Also, she made soup.”

Eliot wrinkled his nose. 

“She microwaved it,” Quentin amended, then helped Eliot sit up. “Do you want something to drink?”

“My head feels like it’s being crushed slowly,” Eliot complained. He reached up to massage his temples. 

“Sounds like sinuses,” Quentin said. “I was gonna take you to see Lipson but Kady just laughed at me. Apparently magic can’t cure cancer or the common cold.”

“You’re worried about me?” Eliot smiled before sneezing all over his bedspread. Quentin handed him a tissue with two fingers, and stepped away. 

“Of course I’m worried about you,” Quentin said. 

“Hey, dickshit,” Margo’s voice reached them before she did. “I slaved over a hot oven for you. You’re gonna eat this soup.”

She brushed into the room, Todd following behind her at a respectable distance, carrying a tray and a bowl of soup. 

“It’s real campbells and everything,” she said. Eliot brought the spoon to his lips, even though he wasn’t hungry. The broth would feel good on his aching throat at least. He took a tentative taste.

“It’s cold,” he said, putting the spoon down. “Cold chicken water.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Margo snatched the bowl away from him and acted like she was gonna either storm off or throw the bowl against the wall. 

Quentin stopped her. “Just do a quick heat spell.”

Margo rolled her eyes and pushed the soup into his chest, splattering the collar of his t-shirt. “You’ve got it under control, don’t you?”

She stalked off, Todd at her heels, and Quentin calmly sat down at the edge of the bed and performed the tuts to heat Eliot’s soup. Then he helped spoon the liquid into Eliot’s waiting mouth. Eliot could have held the spoon, but he was enjoying all the extra attention.

After he’d eaten everything, Quentin fawned over him some more, fluffing his pillows and putting a hand on his forehead to check for fever. He accepted a small dose of cold medicine after Quentin pouted, and then he stumbled to the bathroom to take a hot shower to open his nasal passages.

Quentin had somehow found a vaporiser from god knows where and was setting it up when he came back. He even had a jar of the minty goo that made his eyes water. He allowed Quentin to put it on his chest, regretting that the experience was robbed of its sensuality. 

“What time is it?” Eliot asked. “You’re not putting me to bed already, are you?”

“You’re still feverish,” Quentin said. He was holding a dvd case in his hands. “I found something.”

He handed it over to Eliot, and explained, “It’s the infamous Fillory and Further mini series. It’s...bad. The special effects are low budget, the acting is mediocre at best, and the dialogue is stitled and bland. I don’t think many people own this shit. It’s also one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. It made Julia pee her pants the first time she watched.”

Eliot studied the cover art and smiled. “So you’ve decided it’s time for me to be initiated into the club?”

“I always watch it when I’m sick,” Quentin said. He was plugging in his laptop, and setting it up so they could see it from the bed. 

Eliot watched it, laughing so hard he coughed, and then coughing so hard he laughed. It was even worse than Quentin said it would be. At some point during the last episode he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up with Quentin’s armpit in his face. He extracted himself, and tried to breathe. His throat was still sore, and his nose was clogged. He flopped out of bed, doing his best to avoid jostling Quentin, who was snoring. He walked into the bathroom like a zombie, and gargled with salt water, the one home remedy from his grandmama that had actually stuck with him.

Then he dragged himself downstairs to find something to drink. He’d only just sat down when Quentin came downstairs. He looked extremely bedraggled from sleeping in his clothes and that hair hadn’t seen a comb in a few days. He sat down next to Eliot and glanced at the glass, smiling at first, then sniffing the drink. 

“Are you drinking a screwdriver?” he gasped.

“I need the vitamin C!”

Quentin glared at him. “It’s vodka with a squeeze of orange juice.”

“I can barely taste anything, let me have this,” Eliot said, curling around his glass.

Quentin let him drink it, but he did make him drink a cup of throat coat tea with honey, and Eliot was happy his taste buds were broken. Even with his stuffy nose, he got a whiff of black licorice, which was one of the worst things in the known universe.

A few minutes later, a swamp monster that might have been Margo once stomped through the kitchen, grabbed the orange juice and retreated to her room. She mumbled something profane in their direction and they both giggled. 

“Another one bites the dust,” Quentin said, taking Eliot’s dishes to the sink and beginning to rinse them.

“Why aren’t you sick?” Eliot asked. He suddenly felt like an asshole. He’d been touching Quentin constantly, and they’d been in close quarters for days, long enough that whatever he had would have had plenty of opportunity to attack.

“I have a strong immune system,” Quentin said, wiping his hands on a towel. “Back to bed.”

Eliot ate the soup that Quentin microwaved for him, and drank the tea and only snuck vodka in his orange juice a couple of times. He watched the entire series of Firefly with Quentin, and listened to countless rants about how the network had caused the show’s demise. He let Quentin go off on rants because it was sexy when he got fired up and because Nathan Fillion could get it. 

Unfortunately, Bambi was starting to require more of Quentin’s attention. He was sprinting between their rooms, bringing her cough syrup or fluffing her pillows. Finally, he came up with the most logical idea and put both of them in Margo’s king sized bed, and stationed himself in the middle. 

A few days of Quentin playing nurse had Eliot and Margo feeling much better. The three of them were sprawled across the bed watching Netflix, when Margo and Eliot looked across the bed at each other and jointly realized that Quentin was asleep between them.

Eliot motioned toward the door and Margo hopped off her side of the bed. She turned the volume down on the show, and Eliot pulled the covers up to Quentin’s chest. Then the two of them linked hands and sauntered out of the cottage together.

“How about a nice steak dinner?” Eliot suggested. “I’m so done with chicken soup.”

“That sounds amazing,” Margo said, applying lipstick. The color hadn’t completely returned to her face, but the makeup helped.

They were finishing up their steaks and ordering desert when Eliot was struck with a thought. “Should we order something to go for Q?”

“I guess.” Margo was eyeing the chocolate lava cake. “He did babysit you all week.”

They took Quentin’s food to go, along with two lava cakes. They were laughing and carrying on as they burst back into the bedroom, and they were both surprised to see Quentin was still sleeping.

“Quentin,” Margo said, sitting down hard beside him. “Wake up. We brought you food.”

Quentin groaned and opened his eyes. “What, you need food?”

“No, dummy, we went out and fed ourselves. Look, Eliot brought you some steak, and some garlic mashed potatoes.” She waved the container in front of him, but Quentin only wrinkled his nose.

“Thanks guys,” Quentin said, his voice a little raspy. “I’m not really that hungry. Do you think you could get me some juice, my throat is killing me.”

“Sure baby,” Eliot said, kissing his forehead and finding it burning up.

“He’s definitely sick,” he said as soon as they were in the kitchen. He flung open the very full refrigerator and began making room for Quentin’s food. Margo had grabbed a spoon and was eating her lava cake. 

“Well, shit,” he said, standing back and frowning. “I can’t find the orange juice.”

“Oh yeah.” Todd materialized behind the two of them, trying to get involved as he always did. “I made screwdrivers.”

“Fucking Todd!” Margo stared him down. “Don’t you know Quentin needs the vitamin C!”

**Author's Note:**

> Written to support Jason Ralph's Covenant House International Sleep Out Fundraiser. Check out @Drabbles4Jason on Twitter to see how you can get one of your own!
> 
> Thanks to heartstarmagick for the donation!!
> 
> This fic was made possible by Declan, who came up with the ending and all the best lines.


End file.
